Yssha's Tale: Side Stories
by empire1003
Summary: Written with Cyclone Sword. These can be origin stories, things that didn't fit into the main narratives, expansions of main-story chapters ... anything we or the readers want to see more of. So feel free to make suggestions if you want to see something special!
1. Interview with Faal Mungrohiik

Author's Note: These Side Stories are exactly that. They are things that don't fit within the main Yssha's Tale narrative, but that have attracted Cyclone Sword's or my attention enough to want to write them. They can and probably will vary wildly in narrative style and length, and are in no particular order (unless you count "as they occur to us" as a form of order). There's also no posting schedule. It's all very informal, and if there's something you'd like to see us go into, feel free to contact us by PM.

* * *

Interview with Faal Mungrohiik

Report of an interview between Senior Imperial Scholar Lorgren Calidus and Master Mage Sorcalin, also known as Faal Mungrohiik, The Werewolf.

* * *

I had been offered transport by dragon from the Imperial Academy in Cyrodiil to Alinor City, where Master Mage Sorcalin was assisting the Military Governor, General Hargan. On my arrival, I was taken to the office he was using in the Palace. As a side note, the city was being cleared in preparation for rebuilding when I arrived, but the extent of the devastation was still clear.

I bowed when Master Sorcalin and I exchanged introductions. "Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed by an Academy scholar, Master Sorcalin. This is truly a unique opportunity, and we appreciate it."

We seated ourselves in comfortable chairs, and he offered me some wine before he answered. "Since I'm the only werewolf who's free to be public about it, and there are a lot of misperceptions about lycanthropes, I felt an obligation to agree."

"Can you tell us how you became a werewolf?"

He nodded. "A little background first, if I may?"

"Certainly. We would be happy for anything you care to tell us."

"Thank you." He smiled - and it was a very pleasant expression, not the kind of snarl most would expect from a werewolf. "I was born not far from here, back when Alinor was still called the Summerset Isles. I had a bad case of wanderlust as far back as I can remember, so as soon as I made Expert level, I left." He chuckled ruefully. "I'd prepare better, these days, but back then, I was young, and not thinking ahead the way experience eventually taught me to. I had my Expert robes, a staff, my favorite dagger, and some gold - around two hundred, if memory serves.

"I'd planned to work as a mage for hire, but while I did get jobs, the work wasn't as steady as I had expected. I normally didn't take animal-extermination jobs, but when you're down to less than twenty gold - " He shrugged, and I winced in sympathy, having been in similar circumstances more than once.

"At any rate," he continued, "the Jarl of Solitude asked me to clear some wolves from Wolfskull Cave. When I got close, I saw more dead animals than even a large wolf pack would be likely to drag home for the cubs. Still, I needed the pay, so I went in to see what I had to deal with. Unfortunately for me, instead of a large pack of wolves, it was a small pack of werewolves, led by an alpha male with an impressive number of scars. That's when I knew I was in serious trouble."

He paused, and I thanked the Nine that I'd never been in such a situation. I have been an academic for most of my fairly long life, and I am more than happy that all my adventuring has been vicarious. "And then?"

"We fought, of course. And I won." He paused again. "At least I thought so at the time. When I regained consciousness, the werewolf I'd been fighting was dead, and I was alone and healed. I wondered at that, but wasn't about to go looking for the rest of the pack. When I returned to the Jarl, he apologized for sending me in alone, and that he'd been so wrong about the enemy's identity. I got my payment, and a _very_ nice bonus.

"It wasn't until later I realized something was wrong, or at least different. Everything seemed more intense, somehow. I could hear conversations from distances that should have been impossible, even with these." He grinned, touching the tips of his elven ears, and I smiled.

"It was the smells, though, that actually told me what had happened. I'd heard how a dog could tell far more with his nose than a man or mer could with eyes and ears combined, and I found myself able to tell ... ah, private things your readers might prefer to be unaware of."

My curiosity was intense, but even my academic instincts flinched from asking for more details about that, so I changed the subject.

"When you realized what you had become, what was your reaction?"

He sighed. "I transformed the first full moon after I was bitten. I felt the full blood-lust, and awakened over an elk I'd killed. I was full, so I'd fed in were form, and ... I can't say it revolted me, since I'd killed and butchered plenty of game in my life, and at times, I had even been hungry enough to eat some of it raw. But I was ... ashamed. Magery, you understand, being means in full control of yourself, and I wasn't, any more. It was terrifying."

He scowled. "Have you ever been afraid of yourself, Scholar? Because I was, then. I hated and resented what I'd become, and was terrified of what I might do to anyone who crossed my path while I was transformed. I wanted to kill myself, except for one thing ... and that was ending up in the Hunting Grounds, which was even worse. So I ... hid my shame. The self-discipline I learned in mage training made that possible, and I became quite good at stealth, and finding places to hide during the full moon."

He chuckled briefly. "I also delved into alchemy, devising potions that would knock me out for a full night. I'd still transform, but my wolf would be unconscious, as well. I also studied everything I could find about Hircine and werewolves, looking for a cure, and the rest of the Princes as a way to avoid suspicion about why I was studying Hircine. And I made sure to stay away from cities, towns, and other groups of people unless it was absolutely necessary, of course."

I frowned. "I don't think I understand. You seem to be saying that Master Sorcalin and Faal Mungrohiik are separate individuals who use the same body."

"It's a bit more complicated than that, but essentially, yes." Master Sorcalin paused, clearly trying to think of a way to explain better. "Hmm. You know the Dragonborn absorbs the souls of dragons she kills, and can communicate with them?"

"Of course. It's like that, but you don't have to kill the wolf?"

"Again, not exactly. She doesn't transform, of course; it's more an analogy in that my wolf spirit and I can communicate the same way." He paused again. "The spirit doesn't talk to me like the dragons do to her, with full sentences. But he can ... project feelings very well, and since we've been together for over two centuries, we've grown to understand each other quite well. Hmm. Maybe it would help if I explain that control and communication go through stages as the wolf and host adapt to each other."

"Yes, please do!"

"All right. It's easier for a werewolf who's in a pack from the beginning, because the older pack members help out, but most aren't lucky enough to get turned by, or even close to, an established pack. That means they have to spend at least the early days alone. At first, the host has no memory or control while he's transformed. Later, he'll start to remember bits and pieces, but he still has no control. Clear so far?"

"Yes - this is fascinating! Please, go on."

"Assuming you live long enough, you'll start remembering most of the time while you're transformed. Depending on your wolf's personality and strength, you may be able to gain control for brief moments, and you'll start to notice urges and feelings coming from your wolf - fear, hunger, curiosity, other, um, urges. Most people who survive the first year end up at this stage."

"But you have more than momentary control, from all the reports I've seen."

"Yes, I have full memory and almost complete control while transformed. Unfortunately, very few people live long enough to reach this state."

"Very unfortunate," I agreed. "If more werewolves had your degree of control, they would be far less feared and hated." I thought back to the third stage he'd described. "So you're saying werewolves have different personalities?"

"Oh yes, certainly. Just like any other animal, werewolves each have their own identity, and if you spend enough time with them you can see the differences. In fact, their personalities greatly influence the transformations. Some think before acting while others charge straight through. This means that the exceptionally strong ones and the older and/or smarter ones survive the more difficult situations. A young werewolf will most likely not think twice about fighting, thinking he's far stronger than he actually is."

He looked rueful. "It's an easy mistake to make, though, because you _feel_ so much stronger, and I almost got caught that way myself, a couple of times. An older werewolf, though, has learned to weigh the odds and decide whether it's a smart thing to fight."

"Are other werewolves intelligent? Can they understand human speech?"

"Yes, some very highly intelligent, because they learn from past experiences just like we do. My wolf is over 200 years old, and that is one thing that makes him as dangerous as he is. And yes, as long as the human, mer, or beast host knows that language, so does the wolf."

Does that mean the wolf spirit and its host share knowledge?

"Yes and no," Master Sorcalin said thoughtfully. "At the beginning both minds stay away from each other as much as they can, but after either some years or a lot of experience they can start picking up each other's thoughts."

"Are all transformations as painful as the first, or does it get easier with each one?"

The first dozen or so transformations will always be very painful, but with time it does indeed get easier. It also helps to learn to accept it rather than fight it, but for many people that is far from easy. I had some difficulty with it myself, at first. Now it's faster and less painful for me than for other werewolves."

Before I could ask why, he removed a ring - silver, with a wolf's head in place of a gem - from a pocket of his robes and showed it to me. "This is the Ring of Hircine."

I must have looked shocked, because he grinned. "It won't bite you, Lorgren. It was given to me after an incident during the Oblivion Crisis. I'd been helping some Legionaries close one of the Gates as a volunteer, but things didn't go well - we were attacked by more Daedra than I could count. Pretty soon they were mostly dead, but I was forced to shapeshift to fight the rest. I stood my ground for a short while, but I finally had to run.

"I either passed out or died from my injuries, and woke up in the Hunting Grounds with Hircine himself standing over me. He told me he'd been watching me since the moment my blood mixed with the blood of the werewolf I told you about fighting. He also said he'd taken great pleasure in watching me go from prey to hunter with the Thalmor after I refused to join them shortly after I'd earned Master status, then showing my 'great strength' against the Daedra."

I shifted in my chair, not certain whether to be frightened or awed. "You ... you are Hircine's Champion?"

"I have that honor, yes." He looked at me with a glint of wicked humor in his eyes. "Interested in becoming a member of my pack?"

"Ah ... thank you for the offer, but no." I tried not to show my discomfort at that prospect, but don't know how successful I was. "Can you tell me precisely what the Ring does?"

"For one who earns it, it gives improved physical condition and less pain during the transformation, as well as making the change quicker. Those who took it rather than earning it will suffer random transformations that can happen any time and can last up to 24 hours. In such a case, the Ring cannot be removed, unless the finger is cut off, and if the person dies, he or she will be sent to the Hunting Grounds as prey."

I nodded. "Taking it without Lord Hircine's approval sounds like a very poor choice indeed." I thought for a moment. "From your story, you became a werewolf by being bitten, and I know if one contracts Sanies Lupinus and isn't treated in time, he will become a werewolf. Could that be what happened?"

He shrugged. "It could have, I suppose. I have no idea how long I was unconscious."

"Are there other means of becoming a were?"

"Of course. Hircine can grant it as a blessing to his devotees, or a hunter who impresses him. The chances of him granting it to a mortal, though ... well, I've never heard of it happening. His followers can grant it as well, by a special ritual. Another way is to drink a were-creature's blood. That, like the other two I just mentioned, is immediate, and with this method, the first transformation happens within moments, and is unusually intense. In very rare cases, it can be hereditary, laying dormant for sometimes generations, only to spontaneously reassert itself later."

"What about the beastfolk? Can they become werewolves?"

"Khajiit are as susceptible as men and mer, but I've never heard of one accepting a wolf spirit willingly, and if one thinks he's been exposed, he'll head straight for a shrine or apothecary. If any of them actually wanted to go were, it'd probably be as a werelion. I have several Khajiiti friends, but until recently, only a few knew I'm were."

"And Argonians?"

"They can, but it's rare. Argonians have an incredible resistance to all kind of diseases, even those like lycanthropy. However, an Argonian can still contract it if he accepts it willingly or gets it from Hircine himself. Obviously, most Argonians are as opposed to lycanthropy as any other race, so there are very few of them wandering Tamriel. They do cope with it better than other races, since all of them wanted it at some point. As far as I know I'm currently the strongest werewolf alive, but that could easily change if Hircine decides to personally make an Argonian werewolf."

I nodded understanding, but given the reported size and strength of Faal Mungrohiik, I had doubts that even an Argonian werewolf could surpass him.

"You mentioned packs of werewolves. How common are they, and how big can a pack get?"

"Fairly common. Believe it or not, werewolves are as gregarious as dogs or people. As for size, that depends on the Alpha and the amount of food the pack has in its territory. The nicer the Alpha is and the greater the amount of food, the higher the chances are of encountering a big pack. But most of the time, the number's around 5 pack members."

"Is it true that Werewolves and Vampires can't stand each other?

"There have been cases in which they haven't gone in for a straight kill, but those are few and very far in between. I think it's because they see us as unpredictable savages while we see them as leeches that kill so they won't lose their mind to the bloodlust. In other words, both see ourselves as the superior race. It might also be because of some feud between our Daedric Princes."

"Is there any way to know if a werewolf is nearby?"

"Most animals can smell them, so if they start acting nervous, that's a possible indication." Master Sorcalin chuckled. "Of course, they get nervous about other large predators, too, so it's not definitive. Argonians, Khajiit, and other werewolves can smell lycanthropes as well, and so can some humans or mer, if they're close enough, even if we're not transformed. To humans and mer, werewolves often have the smell of a wet dog."

"How do normal wolves behave toward werewolves?"

"They may follow and sometimes can communicate a bit with a transformed werewolf."

"Why are there werewolves that don't seem to transform back into human?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's either a major power imbalance with the wolf spirit very strong and the host considerably weaker, or the host has simply given up on fighting. I can't say I was ever tempted to surrender the mer side of me, but it's easy to see how someone could feel that way."

I nodded. "I can understand that. Is there any cure for those who don't realize they've become infected until after they transform?"

"A few, but nothing easy. The Glenmoril Witches have - or had, if Ysmir killed them all - potions and scrolls that do the job with few or no side effects, but they worship Hircine, and aren't likely to offer those cures, or any of the other ones.

"You can use the magic contained in the head of a Glenmoril witch to make your wolf spirit appear outside your body, then destroy it.

"The witches also have a rather nasty ritual you'll probably find repugnant. They'll sacrifice an innocent, infect the victim with lycanthropy from the werewolf who wants to be cured, and resurrect the sacrifice. The 'patient' lycanthrope has to kill the victim a second time, which will permanently destroy his inner beast."

I grimaced. "You're right. I really don't like that one. But are there any more?"

"Yes. The first one isn't likely to happen except by accident, though. I mentioned the hereditary lycanthropy. Infecting someone who's got dormant lycanthropy causes the condition to 'transfer', making the dormant one active, and curing the one who did the infecting.

"Finally, lycanthropy can be supplanted by vampirism, but not by a normal vampire, since we're immune to disease. But a _pure-blooded_ vampire, like a Daughter of Coldharbour, can convert a lycanthrope into a Vampire Lord, replacing Hircine's gift with that of Molag Bal."

"All things considered, that last doesn't sound much like a 'cure'," I said with a shudder, and changed the subject. "As we both know the fur of a wolf can vary greatly. Is there a reason why a werewolf is always black?

"No, because not all of us _are_ black. Most of us hunt at night, though, so everyone who sees us without nightvision will see us as black. Like standard wolves, though, we have diferent coloring. We can go from light grey to almost pitch black, with the extremely rare case of cream-color. Not pure white, though, at least that I've ever seen."

"Is there any reason you usually hunt at night? I would think it easier to find game during the day."

"Two, actually." He grinned. "How would you feel if you saw a werewolf on the hunt?"

"A very good point," I admitted. "Since there seems to be no way to tell, at a distance, what stage of development he's at, I'd either prepare to fight, or run."

"Don't run," he advised me immediately. "That's prey behavior, and even a Stage Four is likely to at least start chasing you. Stand your ground. If he breaks off, you're fine - otherwise, fight like a Daedra's after you. If you think there's one nearby at night, you could also try using small fires to hurt their eyes due to night vision. It might not work, but it's worth a try."

"Um ... all right, and thanks for the advice. The other reason you hunt at night?"

"Our night vision almost as good as a Khajiit's, combined with an excellent sense of smell. That makes it fairly easy to get close to a meal without being spotted until it's too late. For them, of course."

I laughed. "That makes very good sense, when you have to kill your dinner yourself rather than simply visiting a food vendor for it. Now, if I may, one last question. Normal weapons won't do much good when fighting werewolves, but Silver and Daedric weapons do. Why?"

"I don't know. Those two materials have always been effective against us and other creatures like ghosts, phantoms, and liches. There's a possibility that Daedric is so effective because it's just that, Daedric. A werewolf is of Daedric origin, so that might be why. But I have absolutely no idea as to why silver is so effective. Sorry."

"It isn't a problem." I stood. "Thank you again for the interview, Master Sorcalin. It has been most informative, and will certainly be a valuable addition to the Academy's library. I will happily send you a copy."

"I'd like that, thanks." He paused, grinning. "How are your artistic skills?"

"Rather good, I've been told. Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking you might like an illustration or two for your report, if you think you can handle seeing me transform."

I hadn't dared even hope for such an opportunity, and now it was being offered! Needless to say, I accepted eagerly. "I would appreciate that very much, Master Sorcalin - I have seen a transformation before, but it was at a distance."

"Brace yourself, then. Let me know when you're done, and I'll change back." With that, he began the change, and moments later I was looking up at a tall and obviously powerful werewolf wearing a dragonscale cuirass.

I made half a dozen drawings from different angles, with notes so I could polish them at my leisure. I'd have liked to do more detailed studies, but I got the impression the werewolf wouldn't be that patient, so as soon as I was certain my notes were adequate, I told him I was done.

When he shifted back, Master Sorcalin came over to look at my work, then he grinned at me. "Field sketches and notes, hmm? That was considerate of you. My wolf is patient, for a wolf, but inactivity bores him if it goes on too long."

"He's certainly not the only one who feels that way, though it was much worse when I was younger. Thank you again for the interview, Master Sorcalin. I should have your copy of the report to you, with illustrations, in two weeks or less."

He bade me farewell, and I left to return to the Academy, thoroughly pleased with the results of my trip.


	2. Farengar and Fusmulgar

.

Farengar and Fusmulgar

When Fusmulgar got off duty after speaking to Dovahkiin, she flew to the Hofkahsejun, what the vodov called Dragonsreach. She circled, then landed on the Great Porch in a thunder of wings. She closed them neatly, with a snap, then gape-grinned at the nervous-looking guard. "Drem yol lok, mun. Zu'u Fusmulgar."

When she saw his confusion, she sighed and translated. "Greetings, man. I am Fusmulgar. I understand you have a scholar of dragons here? A man called Farengar?"

"Uh ... greetings, Fusmulgar. Sigurd Snow-Hair, at your service. Yes, that would be the Court Wizard, and I think I hear him coming up the stairs now."

Moments later, Farengar rushed through the open doors from the strategy room, and practically skidded to a halt. "You're not Odahviing!"

Fusmulgar snorted a laugh. "Nid. Zu'u Fusmulgar. Hi Farengar?"

"Geh, but my Dovazul is strictly from books, so could you please use mostly Common?"

"I will try. Please forgive me if I lapse into my native tongue occasionally. I speak Common, of course, but have not used it much. The last time I was alive, joor learned Dovahzul to speak to us."

Farengar chuckled. "Ah. Consider yourself forgiven in advance, then. Did I hear you ask for me?"

"You did. Dovahkiin says you wish to learn more about dov - dragonkind - and I think that a wise idea, since we are supposed to cooperate. I am willing to assist you, if you will tell me what you are trying to learn."

"Anything I can," Farengar replied. "To put it bluntly, we have almost no reliable records of dragons. The last known repository of dragon lore was lost when the Thalmor - a faction of Altmer and Bosmer - destroyed the archives at Cloud Ruler Temple."

He paused, and sighed. "Dovahkiin - we usually call her Ysmir, in Skyrim - gave me samples of dragonbone and scales from some dragons she killed. And she gave me a sample of her blood, but that only told me that Khajiit blood and blood from a Khajiit Dragonborn are physically identical. Which tends to bolster the argument that the dragon blood Akatosh gave St. Alessia was spiritual rather than physical in nature."

Fusmulgar snorted, loudly. "There was an argument about that? You need to collect some real dragon blood, and test it on an animal you care nothing for. Dov and vodov blood are totally incompatible."

Farengar wasn't sure he'd just heard that. "You would permit it? When I tried to take a sample from Odahviing, he was ... less than pleased."

"Did you ask? If not, of course he would react badly, as would I."

"Er ... I'm afraid not. He was talking with Dovahkiin, and I decided to take what looked like a perfect opportunity."

"That was ... less than intelligent. Would you do such with a mammoth, or an unrestrained sabrecat?

"Of course not!" Farengar exclaimed. "I'm not stupid!"

Then he hesitated. "Oh. Maybe I was. But I see what you mean."

"I see you do." Fusmulgar laughed again. "Dovahkiin said you were obsessive, but I had not expected such a degree of it, as to ignore danger. So bring a container, its lid, and the sharpest dagger you can find, and I will give you the sample you wish."

Farengar headed for his laboratory to get what she'd told him, but the Jarl interrupted. "A moment, Farengar, please."

Farengar sighed, but obeyed. "Yes, my Jarl?"

"You have another dragon in my palace?"  
"Uh ... one is here, my Jarl, but not by my doing. It is here on its own."

A voice came from the stairway. "I am not an it. I am a she. Referring to an intelligent being as an object is, with rare exceptions, vomindoraan ... insulting. I will assume you did not mean it that way, but please do not do it again."

Farengar turned. "No insult intended, Fusmulgar, and I apologize. I will not repeat my error."

"Prozah. I regret the interruption." There was the rustle of leathery wings being rearranged, then silence from upstairs.

Balgruuf chuckled. "I think we've both been reprimanded by one with the right to do so, though - " and he winked - "your guest really should not be eavesdropping."

"Eavesdropping? When I can hear a bear breathing from five thousand feet in the air?" There was a snorted laugh from above. "But I will try to not-listen. Krosis."

"She's very polite," Balgruuf said. "So was Odahviing, when we had him here. And Dovahkiin, who either doesn't realize her position as Stormcrown, or doesn't want to push her status. I wonder if courtesy is simply a characteristic of dragons."

"I'll ask her if you like, my Jarl. She seems ... most cooperative, even offering me a blood sample. And she confirmed that the dragonblood of the Alessian line was spiritual, rather than physical. She even told me how to verify that claim."

"I find that rather surprising, but I won't ... ah, look a gift dragon in the mouth. You may inform her that she is welcome here, as my guest, any time she cares to visit."

Fusmulgar heard and appreciated that, but she'd promised to try to not-hear, impossible as that was. Not responding was quite possible, however, so she simply didn't.

When Farengar rejoined his guest, he was carrying the knife, and a collection of containers, which made Fusmulgar chuckle. "So you wish more samples than just the blood, I gather."

"If you would be so kind," Farengar replied. "Blood, saliva, urine, a stool sample ... "

That got a loud snort, then what he was already learning to recognize as an amused expression. "I cannot fault your courage, wizard, and I will provide all those samples ... but blood and saliva only, here. Is your knife sharp enough to shave with?"

He nodded, then proved it by pushing back a sleeve and shaving a small patch of his arm. "Satisfactory?"

"Quite," Fusmulgar assured him, raising a wing. "Try under there ... the skin is softer than most other places."

"Thank you." Farengar did as he was instructed, filling a container and sealing it, then watching the small wound heal. He collected a saliva sample as well, smiling at the dovah. "You're quite attractive, I must say, now that I know dovah are friendly."

"Only those sworn to Dovahkiin, remember," she cautioned him. "But you are perfectly safe with those of us who are." She took a moment to preen. "And I thank you for the compliment. I had almost forgotten what it is like to be admired, rather than feared."

"If it isn't considered rude, may I ask how old you are?"

"Rude to ask a dovahin's age? Not at all. I was created not long after Lokmoroyol, the first female dovah, so ... five or six thousand of the current years? Time was rather fluid in those days, so it is impossible to be exact."

"I understand. But ... created? Not born, or hatched?"

"Oh, most of us are created. The privilege of actually hatching or siring offspring is rare, and must be earned by something unusually pleasing to Bormah Akatosh. Hatchlings only replace created ones killed by another dovah, since those killed by joor ... vodov ... can be resurrected by our thur."

Farengar caught his breath. Less than an hour with this awesome being, and he'd learned more about dragons than had been known since the end of the Dragon War!

"I ... will you visit again? There is so much to learn! Can you really hear a bear breathing from five thousand feet?"

Fusmulgar shook her head. "Our hearing is far better than yours, but not that good; I fear I was a bit offended at being accused of eavesdropping. Krosis." She paused briefly. "And you need not sound so desperate," she added calmly, pleased by his enthusiasm. "I must still provide those excrement samples, well away from vodov habitations. And it is pleasant to hold tinvaak with you. A favor of my own, if I may?"

"What would that be? Certainly, if I can."

"Teyye - tales." Fusmulgar sighed. "Vodov are much better at such than dov ... we are too literal-minded. We do have some, but vodov seem to create them with no effort. It has been a long time since I heard a new tey."

Farengar almost choked. "Tales? You want tales? Great blessed Divines, if I mention that to the Bards College up in Solitude, you'll be overwhelmed!"

"Then get on my neck, and we go!"

Farengar clutched at neck scales when she launched herself off the Great Porch's balcony and began flapping her wings, and they rose above the city. He'd been warned about the up-and-down motion of dragonflight, but was too fascinated by flight itself and the ground speeding by below them to pay any attention to possible discomfort.

All too soon, she landed outside the Solitude main gates, and he reluctantly dismounted, then looked up at her. "Thank you - that was wonderful!"

"I am glad you liked it." Fusmulgar tilted her head. "You need not cling so tightly to my scales, unless it makes you feel better. When we allow riders, we do not permit them to fall, whatever maneuvers we may make. Even were I to fly upside-down, you would remain on my neck."

"Really! How fascinating!" And reassuring, Farengar thought but didn't say. "Though I think I need to get some leather trews before we return ... these fabric ones I usually wear under my robes seem to be a bit inadequate protection from dragon scales, and there are more interesting things to do on dragon-neck than cast mage armor spells! So I'll see what the Radiant Raiment has on my way up to the College."

"Take your time. Odahviing says at least the younglings come out to speak to any of us who visit cities, and often some of the adults."

"All right. Have fun while I'm gone."

* * *

After a drink at the Winking Skeever and a stop at Radiant Raiment, Farengar went up to the Bards College. Inside, he asked for Viarmo, and was sent to the library, where he found his friend reading. "Good morning, Viarmo," he said softly. "Interested in a new audience, and maybe new source material?"

Viarmo nodded eagerly, but kept his voice just as quiet. "Yes! What do you have?"

"A dovah who wants teyye, tales, and is, she thinks, over four thousand years old. She's aiding me in my research, so she may be willing to tell you dovah history."

"WHAT?" That was just to much for Viarmo's restraint, and he yelled, then forced himself to quiet back down. "A dragon? Wants entertainment?"

Farengar chuckled softly. "So she says, and I have no reason to disbelieve her."

Viarmo rose to his feet, grabbing a lute, and headed out of the library, then called for the Dean of History. "Giraud! Grab a notebook and some charcoal sticks, and come with me!"

When Giraud Gemane joined them, carrying the requested items and looking puzzled, Viarmo turned to Farengar. "Take us to her!"

Farengar chuckled. "Certainly - follow me." He led the way back to the main gate and outside, where Fusmulgar was the center of a crowd. She saw them, and gape-grinned. "You bring me bards so quickly, fahdoni?"

Farengar chuckled. "Geh. Allow me to introduce Headmaster Viarmo and Dean of History Giraud Gemane of the Bards College." He turned to them. "Gentles, may I introduce Fusmulgar, a Legendary dovah?"

Both bowed to her, and Viarmo smiled. "Pleased to meet you, Fusmulgar. Farengar says you wish ... uh ... teyye?"

She ducked her head, the closest she could get to a return bow, then nodded. "Our civilization is based on language, if that is not still known, with dovahhe gone so long. So yes, teyye ... excuse me, I must try to speak Common. Tales, songs, and conversation are very important to us. We have very little new of our own, but mortals are renowned for imagination - you must have created many new things in the time we were dead."

"Oh, we have," Viarmo assured her. "And it would be nice to have an audience for whom even our oldest songs and stories would be new. And perhaps you have ones old to you that would be new to us."

"Ah, if I may?" Giraud interrupted.

"Yes, Dean of History?" Fusmulgar said.

"We have an ancient song we were only recently able to translate, but can't be sure of the pronunciation and have no idea of the tune. It starts, "Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin - "

"Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!" Fusmulgar finished the line. "Ah yes, the Joor Fantasy one they claimed came from an Elder Scroll. We know it well, but thought that with Alduin-thur's power, it would never come to pass. Now Dovahkiin-thur has fulfilled that prophecy."

"Um. Is it offensive to you?"

"Now, after the fact? No, though under Alduin's thurship, singing it meant a death sentence." She shrugged. "Not that his decree stopped many. I have sung it myself, in private, because it speaks - nid, spoke - a hopeless dream and has a nice tune."

Both bards looked at her hopefully. "Would you mind?" Giraud asked.

"Mmm. Perhaps." Fusmulgar looked dubious. "Pitching a dovah singing voice to joor tones is difficult ... your throats need not withstand fire, frost, and lightning. Nor do your songs have such effects. But at one time, joorre said I did not do badly in their registers. Still, we were feared then, so if my attempt is unpleasant, stop me."

"Certainly!" Viarmo assured her.

"Very well." Fusmulgar settled herself, then rose to her haunches and looked down at Viarmo. "Play me a scale, please."

He did, and she began to sing. In human tones, it was somewhere between bass and baritone, the highest she could manage without her voice breaking, but the joor didn't seem to mind, and she was pleased she could still keep the notes clear.

The last two lines nearly broke her control, but she kept on.

"Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok, fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!

"Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot, Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!"

She settled back to all fours, listening to applause and cheers from all around her. That was surprising; at best, she'd gotten mild applause earlier. She looked at the pair of Bards. "Well? Did I earn us new tales and songs?"

"Indeed you did," Viarmo assured her. "I do believe dovah and Bards will be working together for many years to come."

"That would be enjoyable. May I tell the rest? Some may wish to visit, or you may wish to send a researcher or two to Fellglow Keep, the current Skyguard headquarters."

"That would be wonderful!" Viarmo exclaimed. "Certainly, dovah will be welcome, and I have a few journeymen who have that fort on their routes. I'm sure they'll stop there again, with the Skyguard there instead of necromancers."

"This is good. At the moment, though, I have promised Master Farengar some samples, and that is a promise I must deliver on away from populated areas."

"Of course. Thank you for the song."

Fusmulgar crouched so Farengar could mount. As he did so, she said, "I would strongly suggest you cast powerful frost spells on these samples. There is a reason we excrete far from where we perch."


End file.
